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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





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Frontispiece. 

“ Tattine succeeded in making lier way 
across the lawn back to the door, although she 
had four puppies in tow.” 


TATTINE 


BY 

“RUTH "OGDEN” 

I ) 

(Mrs. Charles W. Ide) 


WITH TWENTY-TWO ILLUSTRATIONS 


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PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY 


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l_ibr*iry of ConfireeB 

■' WU CoPtts Receh^eo 

I OCT 27 1900 I 

Copynght entry 

A'A ^ 

S£CON!> COPY. 

Dt'liwtx'pd t« 

moi^ W1S10N, 

OCT 30 1900 




Copyright, 1900, by HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY. 


I 




CHAPTER I. 



H ETHER you happen to be four 
or five, or six, or seven, or even 
older than that, no doubt you 
I* * ■ . know by this time that a great 
I many things need to be learned 

‘ in this world, everything, in fact, 
and never more things than at 
seven. At least, so thought little 
Tattine, and what troubled her 
the most was that some of the things seemed 
quite wrong, and yet no one was able to 
right them. All her little life Tattine’s Mother 

o 


TROUBLE NO. 1. 


had been setting things straight for her, drying every tear, 
and unravelling every tangle, so that Tattine was pretty down- 
hearted the day she discovered that there were some things 
that were quite beyond even her Mother’s power to alter. 
It was on a lovely June morning that Tattine made the 
first of her unwelcome discoveries. She was feeling partic- 
ularly happy too, until she made it. She was sitting up 

in an apple-tree, sketching, and doing it very well. She had 

5 


6 


TATTINE. 


taken only a few drawing-lessons but had taken to them 
immensely, and now with one limb of the tree for a seat and 
another one for an easel, she was working away at a prett_y 
chime tower, that stood on a neighbor’s land. 

Down on the grass beneath her Betsy and Doctor were 
lying. Betsy was a dear, homely red-and-white Laverack set- 
ter, and Doctor, black-and-white and better looking, was her 
son. Doctor’s beautiful grandmother Tadjie was lying, alas! 
under the grass instead of on it, not very far away. It was a 
sad day for the dog world when Tadjie left it, for although 
she was very old, she was very beautiful up to the last with a 
glossy silky coat, a superbly feathered tail, and with brown 
eyes so soft and entreating, they fairly made you love her, 
whether you were fond of dogs or no. 

Well, Tattine was sketching away and was quite absorbed 
in it, but Doctor, who was little more than a puppy, thought 
it very dull. He lay with his head between his paws, and, 
without moving a muscle, rolled his eyes round and round, 
now gazing up at Tattine, and then at his mother, trying to 
be happy though quiet. Finally he stretched himself, got on 
his feet, cocked up his ears, and came and stood in front of 
Betsy, and although not a sound was heard, he said, 
so that Betsy perfectly understood him, “I can’t stand this 
any longer. If you have any love for me do please come for 
a run.” 

Then Betsy took one long stretch and with motherly 
self-sacrifice reluctantly got up, prepared to humor this 
lively boy of hers. Suddenly Doctor craned his head high 
in the air, and gave a little sniff, and then Betsy craned 
her head and sniffed. Then they stole as stealthily away 
as though stepping upon eggs, and Tattine never knew 
that they had gone. It was no stealthy treading very 
long, however. No sooner had they crossed the roadway 
than they made sure of the scent they thought they had 


TATTINE. 


7 


discovered, and made one wild rush down through the 
sumach and sweet-fern to the ravine. In a few moments 
It was one wild rush up again right to the foot of Tattine’s 
apple-tree, and Tattine looked down to see Doctor— oh, could 
she believe her two blue eyes !— with a dear little rabbit clinched 
firmly between his teeth, and his mother (think of it, his 
mother!) actually standing proudly by and wildly waving 
her tail from side to side, in the most delighted manner 
possible. As for Tattine, she simply gave one horrified little 
scream and was down from the tree in a flash, while the 
scream fortunately brought Maggie hurrying from the house, 
and as Maggie was Doctor’s confidential friend (owing to 
certain choice little morsels, dispensed from the butler’s- 
pantry window with great regularity three times a day), 
he at once, at her command, relaxed his hold on the little 
jack-rabbit. The poor little thing was still breathing, breath- 
ing indeed with all his might and main, so that his heart 
thumped against his little brown sides with all the regular- 
ity of a Rider Engine. Tattine’s first thought was for the 
rabbit, and she held it close to her, stroking it with one little 
brown trembling hand and saying, “There ! there ! Hush, you 
little dear; you’re safe now, don’t be frightened! Tattine 
wouldn’t hurt you for the world.” Her next thought was 
for Doctor, and she turned on him with a torrent of abuse, 
that ought to have made the hair of that young M.D. 
stand on end. “Oh, you cruel, cruel dog! whatever made 
you do such a thing as this? I never dreamt it of you, 
never.” At this Betsy’s tail dropped between her legs, for 
she was a coward at heart, but Doctor held his ground, 
his tail standing on end, as his hair should have done, and 
his eyes all the while fairly devouring the little rabbit. 
“And the worst of it,” continued Tattine, “is that no 
matter how sorry you may feel” (Betsy was the only one 
who showed any signs of sorrow, and she was more scared 


8 


TATTINE. 


than sorry), “no matter how sorry you may feel, that 
will not mend things. You do not know where this 
baby lived, and who are its father and mother, and like 
as not it is too young to live at all away from them and 
will die,” and Tattine raised one plump little hand and 
gave Doctor a slap that at least made him “turn tail,” and 
slink rather doggedly away to his own particular hole under 
the laundry steps. And now it was time to find Mamma — 
high time, for it seemed to Tattine she would choke with 
all the feelings, sorrowful and angry, welling up within her. 
Mamma was not far afield — that is, she was very near, at her 
desk in the cosy little alcove of the upstairs hall-way, and 
Tattine soon found her. 

“Now, Mamma,” she asked excitedly, “did you know that 
Betsy or Doctor would do such a thing as this?” 

The trembling little rabbit in Tattine’s hands showed what 
was meant by this. 

Mrs. Gerald paused a moment, then she said reluctantly, 
“Yes, Tattine, I did.” 

“Have they done it before. Mamma?” 

“I am sorry to say they have.” 

“Have you seen them bring struggling rabbits dangling in 
their mouths right up to the house here, Mamma?” 

Mrs. Gerald merely shook her head. She felt so sorry to 
have to own to such a sight. 

“Why did I never know it. Mamma?” 

“You have never chanced to be on the spot, dear, when it 
happened, and I was in no hurry to tell you anything that I 
knew would make you sad.” 

“I think it would have been better to tell me. It’s 
awful to find such a thing out suddenly about dogs you’ve 
trusted, and to think how good and gentle they look when 
they come and put their heads in your lap to be petted, 
just as though they would not hurt a fly; but then, of course. 


TATTIXE. 


9 



anyone who has eyes knows that they do hurc flies, 
snapping at them all clay long, and just for the fun of it too, 
not because they need them for food, as birds do. Mamma, 
I don’t believe there’s anything meaner than a Laverack 
setter. Still, Tadjie would never have done such a thing, 
I know.” Mrs. Gerald was silent, and Tattine, expecting her 
to confirm what she had said, grew a little suspicious. “Would 
Tadjie, Mamma?” with a directness that would not admit of 
indirectness. 

“Yes, Tattine; Tadjie would. She was trained to hunt 
before ever she was given to Papa, and so were her ancestors 
before her. That is why Doctor and Betsy, who have never 
been trained to hunt, go wild over the rabbits. They have 
inherited the taste.” 


9 


lO 


TATTINE. 


“Trained to hunt,” said Tattine thoughtfully. “Do you 
mean that men just went to work to teach them to be so cruel ?” 

“Well, I suppose in a way setters are natural hunters, 
Tattine, but then their training has doubtless a great deal 
to do with it, but I want to tell you something that I 
think will give you just a grain of comfort. I read the 
other day that Sir John Franklin, the great Arctic explorer, 
who almost lost his life in being attacked by some huge 
animal — it must have been a bear, I think — says that the 
animal when he first gets you in his teeth gives you such a 
shake that it paralyzes your nerves — this is, it benumbs all 
your feelings, so that, strange as it may seem, you really do 
not suffer. So let us hope that it was that way with this little 
rabbit.” 

“But there’s a little blood here on one side. Mamma.” 

“That doesn’t always prove suffering, either, Tattine. 
Soldiers are sometimes wounded without ever knowing it until 
they see a little sign of blood somewhere.” 

Tattine listened attentively to all this, and was in a measure 
comforted. It seemed that Mamma was still able to 
better things, even though not able to set everything per- 
fectly right. “Now,” Tattine said, with a little sigh of relief, 
“I think I will try and see what I can do for Bunny. 
Perhaps he would first like a drink,” so downstairs she 
went, and putting some milk in a shallow tea-cup, she dipped 
Bunny’s nose in it, and it seemed to her as though he did take 
a little of it. Then she trudged up to the garret for a 
box, and, putting a layer of cotton-batting in the bottom, 
laid Bunny in one corner. Then she went to the garden 
and pulled a leaf or two of the youngest, greenest lettuce, 
and put it right within reach of Bunny’s nose, and a 
little saucer of water beside it. Then she went down 
to tell the gardener’s little boy all about the sorrowful 
thing that had happened. 


TATTINE. 


II 


The next morning Bunny was still breathing, but the 
lettuce was un-nibbled; he had not moved an inch, and he 
was trembling like a leaf. “Mamma,’' she called upstairs, “I 
think I’ll put Bun in the sun” (she was trying not to be too 
down-hearted) ; “he seems to be a little chilly.” Then she 
sat herself down in the sun to watch him. Soon Bunny 
ceased to tremble. “Patrick,” she called to the old man who 
was using the lawn mower, “is this little rabbit dead?” 

“Yes, miss, shure,” taking the little thing gently in his hand. 

“Very well,” she answered quietly. Tattine used those 
two little words very often ; they meant that she accepted the 
situation, if you happen to know what that means. “Now I 
think I will not trouble Mamma about it,” she said to herself 
thoughtfully, so she went to the closet under the stairs, got 
a little empty box she knew was there, and, taking it out of 
doors, she put the little rabbit in it, and then trudged down 
to the tool-house for her spade and rake. 

“Bunny is dead, Joey,” she called to the gardener’s little 
boy as she came back. “Come help me bury him,” and so 
Joey trotted behind her to the spot already selected. “We 
must make this hole good and deep,” she explained (Joey 
stood looking on in wide-eyed wonder), “for if Doctor and 
Betsy would kill a little live rabbit, there is no telling but they 
would dig up a dead one.” So the hole was made at least four 
inches deep. Bunny was buried in it, and the earth, with Joey’s 
assistance, stamped down hard, but afterwards it was loosened 
somewhat to plant a little wild-wood plant atop of the tiny 
grave. “Now, Joey, you wait here till I go bring something 
for a tombstone,” Tattine directed, and in a second she was 
back again with the cover of a box in one hand and a red 
crayon in the other. Sitting flat upon the grass, she printed 
on the cover in rather irregular letters : — 

Born — I don’t know when. Died — June 17th. 

Lavcrack setters not allowed. 


12 


TATTINE. 


This she put securely into place, while Joey raked up a 
little about the spot, and they left the little rabbit grave look- 
ing very neat and tidy. The next morning Tattine ran out 
to see how the little wild-wood plant was growing, and then 
she stood with her arms akimbo in blank astonishment. The 
little grave had disappeared. She kicked aside the loose earth, 
and saw that box and Bunny were both gone, and, not 
content with that, they had partially chewed up the tomb- 
stone, which lay upon its face a little distance away. 
They, of course, meant Betsy and Doctor. “There was no 
use in my putting : ‘Laverack setters not allowed,’ ” she said 
to herself sorrowfullv, and she ran off to tell her Mother 
of this latest tragedy. 

“Yes, I know, Tattine dear,” said Mrs. Gerald, in the 
first pause; “there is neither pity nor mercy in the heart of 
a setter when he is on the scent of a rabbit, alive or dead — 
but, Tattine, don’t forget they have their good sides. Doctor 
and Betsy; just think how fond they are of you and me. 
Why, the very sight of us always makes them beat a tattoo 
with their tails.” 

“Yes, I know. Mamma, but I can’t feel somehow that 
tattoos with their tails make up for killing rabbits with 
their teeth.” 






CHAPTER II. 


A MAPLE-WAX MORNING. 


A TEAM came rushing in between the gate-posts of the 
stone wall, and it looked like a run-away. They were 
riderless and driverless, and if there had been any harness, 
there was not a vestige of it to be seen; still, they kept neck 
and neck, which means in horsey language side by side, and 
on they came in the maddest fashion. Tattine stood on the 
front porch and Watched them in high glee, and not a bit 
afraid was she, thcVigh they were coming straight in her direc- 
tion. When they reached her they considerately came to a 
sudden stop, else there is no doubt whatever but she would 
have been tumbled over. 

“Well, you are a team,” laughed Tattine, and they 

laughed back, “Yes, we know we are,” and sat down on the 

step on either side of her. Of course, that would have been 

a remarkable thing for some teams to do, but not for this 

one, for, as you can guess, they were just two little people, 

Mabel and Rudolph, but they were a perfect team all the 

same; everybody said so, and what everybody meant was 

this — that whatever Rudolph “was up to,” Mabel was “up 

to” also, and vice versa. They traveled together finely, right 

13 


H 


TATTINE. 


‘‘up on the bit” all the time. It would have been easier for 
those who had charge of them if one or the other had held 

back now and then, and set a slower pace, but as that was 

not their nature and could not be helped, everybody tried 
to make the best of them, and everybody loved them. 
Tattine did not see how she could ever have lived with- 
out them, for they were almost as much a brother and sister 
to her as to each other. This morning they had come over 
by invitation for what they called a Maple-wax morning, and 
that was exactly what it was, and if you have never 

had one of your own, wait till you read about this one 

of Tattine’s, and then give your dear Mamma no peace until 
you have had one, either in your kitchen in town, or in the 

woods out of town, which is better. One thing is neces- 

sary to its complete enjoyment, however: you must have 
a “sweet tooth,” but as most little people cut that par- 
ticular tooth very early, probably you are among the fortu- 

nate number. 

“Well, I don’t see what we are sitting here for,” said 
Mabel at last. 

“Neither do I,” said Tattine; “I was only giving you 
a chance to get a little breath. You did not seem to have 
much left.” 

“No more we had,” laughed Rudolph, who was still 
taking little swallows and drawing an occasional long breath, 
as people do when they have been exercising very vigor- 
ously. “But if everything is ready,” he added, “let us 
start.” 

“Well, everything is ready,” said Tattine quite com- 
placently, as she led the way to the back piazza, where “every- 
thing” was lying in a row. There was the maple sugar itself, 
two pounds of it on a plate, two large kitchen spoons, a china 
cup, two sheets of brown wrapping-paper, two or three news- 
papers, a box of matches, a pail of clear spring water, a 


TATTINE. 


15 


hammer, an ice-pick, and last, and most important of all, a 
granite-ware kettle. 

“Now if you’ll carry these,” explained Tattine, “I’ll run 
and tell Philip to bring the ice,” so Rudolph and Mabel 
“loaded up” and marched down to the camp, and Tattine 
disappeared in the direction of the ice-house. The camp 
was not far away, and consisted of a cosy little “A” 
tent, a hammock hung between two young chestnuts, and a 
fire-place made of a circle of stones on the ground, with a 
crane hanging above it. The crane was quite an elabo- 
rate contrivance, for which Joseph the gardener was to be 
thanked. 

The long branch on which the pot hung was pivoted, if 
you know what that is, on an upright post fastened firmly in 
the ground, and in such a way that you could “higher it,” 
as Tattine said, or lower it, or swing it clear of the fire on 
either side. At the end of the branch away from the fire 
hung a chain, with a few blocks tied into it, for a weight, so 
that you lifted the weight with one hand when you wished 
to change the position of the branch with the other, and then 
let it rest on the ground again at the spot where you 
wanted the pole to stay. You see, the great advantage of 
this was that, when you wished to see how things were going 
on inside of the kettle, or to stop its boiling instantly — 
you could just swing it away from the fire in no time, and not 
run the risk of burning face or hands, or petticoats, if 
you belong to the petticoat family. 

“Now,” panted Tattine, for it was her turn to be 
breathless with running, “I’ll break the sugar if you two 
will make the fire, but Rudolph’s to light it and he’s the only 
one who is to lean over it and put the wood on when 

it’s needed. Mamma says there is to be a very strict rule 

about that, because skirts and fluffy hair like mine and 

Mabel’s are very dangerous about a fire,” and then Tattine 


i6 


TATTINE. 


proceeded to roll the maple sugar in the brown paper so as 
to have two or three thicknesses about it, and then, laying 
it upon a flat stone, began to pound and break it with 
the hammer. 

“Yes,” said Rudolph, on his knees on the ground, and 
making balls of newspaper for the foundation of the fire; 
“it’s lucky for Mabel and me that fire is one thing about which 
we can be trusted.” 

“I shouldn’t wonder if it’s the only thing,” laughed Tat- 
tine, whereupon Mabel toppled her over on the grass by way 
of punishment. 

“No, but honest!” continued Rudolph, “I have just been 
trained and trained about fire. I know it’s an awfully 
dangerous thing. It’s just foolhardy to run any sort of risk 
with it, and it’s wise when you make a fire in the open 
air like this, to stand on the same side as the wind 
comes from, even if you haven’t any skirts or fluffy hair to 
catch.” 

“Here’s some more wood, grandfather,” said Mabel 
solemnly, dumping an armful down at his side ; “I should 
think you were eighty to hear you talk,” and then Mabel 
had her punishment by being chased down the path and 
plumped down rather hard in the veriest tangle of brambles 
and briars. It chanced, however, that her corduroy skirt 
furnished all the protection needed from the sharp little thorns, 
so that, like “Brer Rabbit,” she called out exultingly, “ ‘Born 
and bred in a briar-patch. Brer Rudolph, born and bred in a 
briar-patch,’ ” and could have sat there quite comfortably, no 
one knows how long, but that she heard the maple sugar go 
tumbling into the kettle. And then she heard Tattine say, 
“A cup of water to two pounds, isn’t it?” Then she heard 
the water go splash on top of the maple sugar. Now she 
could stand it no longer, and, clearing the briars at one bound, 
was almost back at the camp with another. 


TATTINE. 


17 


By this time the fire was blazing away finely, and the 
sugar, with the help of an occasional stirring from the long- 
handled spoon in Rudolph’s hand, soon dissolved. Dis- 
solving sometimes seems to he almost a day’s journey from 
boiling, and the children were rather impatient for that 
stage to be reached. At last, however, Rudolph announced 
excitedly, ‘Rt boils, it boils ! and now I mustn’t leave it 
for a minute. More wood, Mabel ! don’t be so slow, and, 
Tattine, hurry Philip up with that ice,” hut Philip was seen 
at that moment bringing a large piece of ice in a wheel- 
barrow, so Tattine was saved that journey, and devoted 
the time instead to spreading out one of the pieces of 
wrapping-paper, to keep the ice from the ground, because of 
the dead leaves and “things” that were likely to cling 
to it. 

“Now break off a good-sized piece, Tattine,” Rudolph 
directed, “and put it on a piece of paper near the fire,” but 
Tattine knAv that was the next thing to do, so what 
was the use of Rudolph’s telling her? It happens quite 
frequently that people who are giving directions give too 
many by far. 

“Now, Mabel,” continued the drum-major, “will you 
please bring some more wood, and will you please put your 
mind on it and keep bringing it? These little twigs that make 
the best fire burn out in a twinkling, please notice,” but 
Mabel did not hurry so very much for the next armful; 
since she could see for herself there was no great need 
for haste. Rudolph was simply getting excited, but then 
the making of maple-wax is such a very responsible 
undertaking, he could not be blamed for that. You need 
to stop its boiling at precisely the right moment, else it 
suddenly reaches the point where, when you cool it, it 
grows brittle like “taffy,” and then good-bye to maple- 
wax for that kettleful. So Rudolph, every half-minute, kept 


i8 


TATTINE. 


dripping little streams of the boiling sugar from the spoon 
upon the piece of ice, and Tattine and Mabel kept testing it 
with their fingers and tongues, until both at last exclaimed 
in one and the same breath, “It’s done! it’s done! Lift 
it off the fire quickly ; it’s just right.” Just right means when 
the sugar hardens in a few seconds, or in a little more 
than half a minute, into a delicious consistency like — well, 
just like maple-wax, for there is nothing else in the world 
that I know of with which to compare it. Then the 
children seated themselves around the great cake of 
ice, and Rudolph, with the kettle on the ground beside him, 
tipped against a log of wood at just the right angle, continued 
to be master of ceremonies, and dipped spoonful after 
spoonful of the syrup, and let it trickle over the ice in queer 
fantastic shapes or in little, thin round discs like griddle-cakes. 
The children ate and ate, and fortunately it seems for 
some reason, to be the most harmless sweet that can be indulged 
in by little people. 

“Well, I’ve had enough,” remarked Rudolph at the expira- 
tion of say a quarter of an hour, “but isn’t it wonderful that 
anything so delicious can just trickle out of a tree?” his unman- 
nerly little tongue the while making the circuit of his lips in 
search of any lingering traces of sweetness. 

“Trickle out of a tree!” exclaimed astonished Tattine. 

“Why, yes, don’t you know that’s the way they make 
maple sugar? In the spring, about April, when the sap begins 
to run up into the maple-trees, and often while the snow is still 
on the ground, they what they call tap the tree ; they 
drive a sort of little spout right into the tree and soon the 
sap begins to ooze out and drop into buckets that are placed to 
catch it. Afterwards thev boil it down in huee kettles 
made for the purpose. They call it sugaring off, and it must 
be great fun.” 

“Not half so much fun, I should think, as sugaring down,” 


TATTINE. 


19 


laughed Mabel, with her right hand placed significantly where 
stomachs are supposed to be. 

“And now I am going to run up to the house,” explained 
Tattine, getting stifily up from a rather cramped position, 
“for three or four plates, and Rudolph, you break off some 
pieces of ice the right size for them, and we will make a little 
plateful from what is left for each one up at the house, else 
I should say we were three little greedies. And Mabel, while 
I am gone you commence to clear up.” 

“Well, you are rather cool, Tattine,” said Mabel, but she 
obediently set to work to gather things together. 

As you and I cannot be a bit of help in that direction, 
and have many of a clearing-up of our own to do, I propose 
that we lose not a minute in running away from that little 
camp, particularly as we have not had so much as a taste of 
the delicious wax thev’ve been making. 




CHAPTER III. 

A SET OF SETTERS. 

I T was a great bird-year at Oakdene. Never had there been 
so many. The same dear old Phoebe-birds were back, 
building under the eaves of both the front and back piazzas. 
The robins, as usual, were everywhere. The Maryland yel- 
low-throats were nesting in great numbers in the young 
growth of woods on the hill of the ravine, and ringing out their 
hammer-like note in the merriest manner; a note that no one 
understood until Dr. Van Dyke told us, in his beautiful little 
poem, that it is “witchery, witchery, witchery,” and now we 
wonder that we could have been so stupid as not to have discov- 
ered it was exactly that, long ago. But the glory of the summer 
were the orioles and the scarlet tanagers ; the orioles with their 
marvellous notes, and the tanagers in their scarlet golfing 

coats glinting here and there in the sunshine. Nests every- 
20 


TATTINE. 


21 


where, and Tattine on one long voyage of discovery, until she 
knew where at least twenty little bird families were going to 
crack-slicll their way into life. But there was one little family 
of whose whereabouts she knew nothing, nor anyone else for 
that matter, until “Hark, what was that?” — Mabel and 
Rudolph and Tattine were running across the end of the porch, 
and it was Rudolph who brought them to a standstill. 

“It’s puppies under the piazza, that’s what it is,” declared 
Tattine; “where ever did they come from, and how ever do you 
suppose they got there?” 

“I think it’s a good deal more important to know how 
you’ll ever get them out,” answered Rudolph, who was of a 
practical turn of mind. 

“I’ll tell you what,” said Tattine thoughtfully, “ shouldn’t 
wonder if they belong to Betsy. I’ve seen her crowding her- 
self through one of the air-holes under the piazza several 
times lately,” whereupon the children hurried to peer 
through the air hole. Nothing was to be seen, however, 
for the piazza floor was not more than a foot and a half from 
the ground, and it was filled with all sorts of weeds that flour- 
ished without sunshine. Still the little puppy cries were per- 
sistently wafted out from some remote corner, and, pulling 
off his jacket, Rudolph started to crawl in and investigate. 
It did not seem possible that he could make his way, for the 
place was not high enough for him even to crawl on his 
hands and knees, and he had rather to worm himself 
along on his elbows in quite indescribable fashion. Still, Tat- 
tine and Ma1)el were more than ready to have him try, and 
waited patiently, bending over with their hands upon their 
knees, and gazing in through the weed-grown hole in breath- 
less, excited fashion. 

“I believe I’ll have to give it up,” Rudolph called back; 
“the cries seem as far off as ever and I’m all but scratched 
to pieces.” 


22 


TATTINE. 


“Oh, don’t! don’t!” cried Tattine and Mabel, in one 
breath, and Mabel added, “We must know what they are and 
where they are. I shall go in myself if you come out.” 

“Well, you wouldn’t go more than three feet then, I can 
tell you,” and Rudolph was right about that. It was 
only because he hated to give the thing up, even more 
than the girls hated to have him, that made him persevere. 
“Well, here they are at last!” he cried exultingly, a few 
moments later; “one, two three, four of them, perfect little 
beauties too. And they must belong to Betsy; they’re just 
like her.” 

“Bring one out, bring one out !” called both the children, 
and fairly dancing with delight. 

“Bring out your grandmother ! It’s all I can manage to 
bring myself out, without holding on to a puppy.” 

“Very well,” Tattine called back, with her usual instant 
acceptance of the inevitable, “but I know what,” and then 
she was off in a flash, with Mabel following closely to find 
out what zvhat might be. 

It was Joseph the gardener whom Tattine wanted, and she 
found him where she thought she would, killing potato-bugs 
in the kitchen-garden. 

“What do you think, Joseph? Betsy has a beautiful set 
of little setters under the piazza. Come quick, please ! and 
see how we can get them out.” 

Joseph followed obediently. “Guess we’ll have to let them 
stay there till they crawl out,” said Joseph; “Betsy’ll take 
as good care of them there as anywhere,” whereupon the 
children looked the picture of misery and despair. At this 
moment Rudolph emerged from the hole a mass of grass and 
dirt stains, and both Mabel and Tattine thought he had been 
pretty plucky, though quite too much preoccupied to tell him 
so, but Rudolph happily felt himself repaid for hardships 
endured, in the delight of his discovery. 


TATTINE. 


23 


“It will be a month before they’ll have sense enough to 
crawl out,” he remarked to Joseph, “and they’re wedged in 
between some old planks in very uncomfortable fashion. They 
look like fine little fellows too. I think we ought to manage 
in some way to get them out.” 

“And it would be bad if any of them died there,” said 
Joseph, rubbing his head and still ruminating on the sub- 



ject; “very bad. Well, we’ll have to see what we can 
do about it.” 

“Will you see right away?” urged Tattine eagerly. 

“May as well, I reckon,” and Joseph walked off in the 
direction of the tool-house, but to Tattine’s regret evidently 
did not appreciate any need for extreme haste. 

In a little while he was back again with Patrick, and both 
of them were carrying spades. 


24 


TATTINE. 


“There’s only one way to do it,” he explained, as they 
set to work; “you see, the pillars of this porch rest on a 
stone foundation, so as to support the rooms above, and we’ll 
have to dig out three or four of the large stones and 
then dig a sort of trench to wherever the puppies are,’’ 
and Rudolph was able of course to indicate the exact spot 
to which the trench must lead. It was the work of an hour 
to excavate the foundation-stones, and an additional half- 
hour to dig the trench. Meantime Betsy appeared upon the 
scene, and, evidently appreciating what was going on, stood 
about and superintended matters with quite an important air. 
Rudolph clambered in and dug the last few feet of the 
trench, because it did not need to be as large for him 
as for Joseph and Patrick, and then one at a time he 
brought the dear little puppies out, and Alabel and Tattine 
took turns in appropriating them, while Betsy eyed them 
proudly but withal a little anxiously. And they were dear; 
as prettily marked as their beautiful grandmother Tadjie, and 
too cunning for words. 

“You have made us a great deal of trouble, Betsy,” said 
Tattine, “but they are such beauties we forgive you,” 
whereat Betsy looked up so affectionately that Tattine 
added, “and perhaps some day Til forgive you about that 
rabbit, since Mamma says it’s natural for you to hunt them.” 
But Betsy, indifferent creature, did not care a fig about all 
that ; her only care was to watch her little puppies stowed 
away one by one on fresh sweet-smelling straw, in the same 
kennel where Doctor and his brothers and sisters had enjoyed 
their pnppy-hood, and then to snuggle up in a round ball 
close beside them. They n'crc Betsy’s puppies for a cer- 
tainty. There had been no doubt of that from the first 
glimpse Rudolph gained of them in their dark little hole 
under the porch. But the next morning came and then 
what do you suppose happened? A very weak little puppy 


TATTINe. 


25 


cry came from under the porch. Another puppy, that was 
wliat it meant, and Joseph was very much out of patience, 
for the trench had l)een filled up and the foundation-stones 
carefully replaced. 

“Rudolpli ought to have made sure how many there were,” 
he said rather growlily. 

“But, Joseph, this puppy cry comes from another place — 
way over here, it seems to me,” and Tattine ran to a spot on 
the porch several yards from that under which the others 
had been found ; “I believe it must have been a cleverer little 
puppy than the others, and crawled away by itself to 
see what the world was like, and that is why Rudolph missed 
finding it.” 

Joseph put his hand to his ear and, listening carefully, 
concluded that Tattine was right. “Now Til tell you what 
I am going to do,” he said; “I can make just a little hole, 
large enough for a puppy to get through, without taking out 
a foundation-stone, and Tm going to make it here, near where 
the cry seems to come from. Then I am going to tie Betsy 
to this pillar of the porch, and I believe she’ll have sense 
enough to try and coax the little fellow out, and if he is such 
an enterprising little chap as you think he’ll have sense enough 
to come out.” 

It seemed a good plan. Betsy was brought, and Tattine 
sat down to listen and watch. Betsy, hearing the little 
cries, began at once to coax, giving little sharp barks at 
regular intervals, and trying to make the hole larger with 
her paws. 

Tattine’s ears, which were dear little shells of ears to 
look at, and very sharp little ears to hear with, thought the 
cries sounded a little nearer, and now a little nearer ; then 
she was sure of it, and Betsy and she, both growing 
more excited every minute, kept pushing each other away 
from the hole the better to look into it, until at last two little 


4 


26 


TATTINE. 


beads of eyes glared out at them, and then it was an 
easy thing for Tattine to reach in and draw out the prettiest 
puppy of all. 

“Why didn’t you tell us there were five, Betsy, and save 
us all this extra trouble?” and Tattine hurried away to 
deposit number five in the kennel ; but Betsy looked up 
with the most reproachful look imaginable as though to say, 
“How much talking could you do if you had to do it all with 
your eyes and a tail ?” 




MORE TROUBLES. 



ATRICK KIRK was raking the 
gravel on the road into pretty 
criss-cross patterns, and Tattine 
was pretending to help him with 
her own garden rake. Patrick was 
one of Tattine’s best friends and 
slie loved to work with him and to 
talk to him. Patrick was a fine 
old Irishman, there was no doubt 
whatever about that, faithful and 
conscientious to the last degree. 
Everv morning he would drive 
over in his old buggy from his little 
farm in the Raritan Valiev, in 
abundant time to begin work -on 
the minute of seven, and not until 
the minute of six would he lay 
aside spade or hoe and turn 
his steps towards his old horse tied under the tree, behind 
the barn. But the most attractive thing ab(Mit Patrick 
was his genial kindly smile, a smile that said as plainly 
as words, that he had found life very comfortable and 
pleasant, and that he was still more than content with it. 


27 


28 


TATTTNE. 


notwithstanding that his back was bowed with work month 
in and month out, and the years were hurrying him fast on 
into old age. 

And so Tattine was fond of Patrick, for what (child 
though she was) she knew him to be, and they spent many 
a delightful hour in each other’s company. 

“Patrick,” said Tattine, on this particular morning, when 
they were raking away side by side, “does Mrs. Kirk ever 
have a day at home?” and she glanced at Patrick a little 
mischievously, doubting if he would know just what she 
meant. 

“Shure she has all her days at home. Miss Tattine, save 
on a holiday, when we go for a day’s drive to some of our 
neighbors’, but I doubt if Pm catching just what you’re 
mailing.” 

“Oh ! I mean does she have a day sometimes when she 
gets ready for company and expects to have people come and 
see her, the wav ladies do in town?” 

“Well, no, miss; she don’t do that, for, tin to one, nobody’d 
come if she did. We belongs to the workin’ classes, Molly 
and I, and we has no time for the doing of the loikes of citv 
people.’' 

“Pm sorry she hasn’t a day,” said Tattine, “because — 
because ” 

“If ye’re mailing that you’d like to give us a call, miss,” 
said Patrick, beginning to take in the situation, “shure she 
could have a day at home as aisy as the foinest ladv, and proud 
indeed she’d be to have it with vour little self for the euest 
of honor.” 

“I would like to bring Rudolph and Mabel, Patrick.” 

“And what should hinder, miss?” 

“And I’d like to have it an all-day-at-home, say from 
eleven in the morning until five in the afternoon, and not make 
just a little call, Patrick.” 



Mrs. 


“ ‘ Patrick,’ said Tattine, . 
Kirk ever have a day at home? 


J 5J 


^ does 
29 


30 


TATTINE. 


‘‘Of course, miss, a regular long clay, with your donkey 
put into a stall in the barn, and yourselves and the donkey 
biding for the best dinner we can give ye.” 

“And I’d like to have you there, Patrick, because we might 
not feel at home just with Mrs. Kirk.” 

“Well, I don’t know, miss; do you s’pose your Father 
could spare me?” and Patrick thought a little regretfully of 
the dollar and a half he would insist upon foregoing if he 
took a day off, but at the same moment he berated himself 

soundly for having such an un- 
generous thought. “Indade, miss, if 
you'll manage for me to 
have the day I’ll gladly 
stav to home to make 

w' 

ye welcome.” 

“Then it’s settled, 
Patrick, and we’ll make it 
the very first day Papa 
can spare you.” They had 
raked down, while they had been having 
this conversation, to close proximity 
to two pretty rows of apple-trees that 
had been left on the front lawn, a 
reminder of the farm that “used to 
of the trees brought a troubled look 
“Patrick,” she said ruefully, “do you 
know that some of the nests in these trees have been robbed 
of their eggs? Four or five of them are empty now. Have 
you an idea who could do such a thing?” 

“Yes, I have an idea,” and Patrick rested his hands upon 
the handle of his rake and looked significantly towards the 
barn; “somebody who lives in the barn, I’m thinkin’.” 

“Why, Joseph would not do it, nor Philip the groom, and 
little Joey is too small to climb these trees.’ 



be,” 

into 


and the sight 
Tattine's face. 




TATTINE. 


31 


*‘It’s something smaller than Joey, miss. Whisht now, 
and see if she’s not up to mischief this minute.” 

Tattine's litle black-and-white kitten, whose home was in 
the barn, had l)een frisking about her feet during all the raking, 



but as the raking came under the apple-trees, other thoughts 
came into her little black-and-white head, and there she 
was stealthily clawing her way up the nearest tree. Tat- 
' tine stood aghast, but Patrick’s ‘Vhisht” kept her still 



32 


TATTINE. 


for a moment, while the cat made its way along one of the 
branches. Tattine knowing well the particular nest she 
was seeking, made one bound for her with her rake, and 
with such a scream as certainly to scare little Black-and-white 
out of at least one of the nine lives to which she is supposed 
to be entitled. But pussy was too swift and swiftly 
scrambled to the very topmost twig that would hold her 
weight, while Tattine danced about in helpless rage on the 
grass beneath the tree. “Tattine is having a ht,” thought 
little Black-and-white, scared half to death and quite ready 
to have a little fit of her own, to judge from her wild 
eyes and bristling tail. 

Tattine’s futile rage was followed in a few minutes by, 
“Oh, Patrick, I never dreamt it was Kittie. Has she been 
trained to do it, do you think?” 

“Oh. no, miss; it just comes natural to cats and kittens to 
prey upon birds and birds’ nests.” 

“Patrick,” said Tattine solemnly, “there is not going to 
be any four-legged thing left for me to love. I am done 
with Betsy and Doctor, and now Pm done with Black-and- 
white. I wonder if Mamma can make it seem any better,” 
and then she turned her steps to the house in search of com- 
fort, but she had gone only half-way when the coach- 
man, who was waiting at the door with the little grey 
mare and the phaeton, motioned to her to come quietly. Tat- 
tine saw at a glance what had happened, and sped swiftly 
back to Patrick. “Keep Black-and-white up the tree,” she 
said, in a breathless whisper; “don’t let her go near the 
nest, and don’t let her come down for the world. The 
little Pheebe-birds have lit.” 

“All right, miss,” not at all understanding the situation, 
but more than willing to obey orders. Tattine was in such 
haste to get back to the house that she hardly heard his answer. 
What she had tried to tell him was that the five little 


TATTINE. 


33 


fledglings, crowded into the tiny nest under the eaves of the 
porch, had taken it into their heads to try their first flight at 
that precise moment, and there they were perched on the 
shafts of the phaeton, lighting, as it seemed, on the first 
thing they came to, while the father and mother birds were 
flying about in frantic anxiety to see them in such a perilous 
situation. How could those tiny little untrained claws 
keep their hold on that big round, slippery shaft, and if 
the carriage started down they would surely go under 
the wheels or under the feet of that merciless little grey 
mare. But the little fledglings were in better hands than 
they knew, for, with the exceptions of Betsy, Doctor, and 
Black-and-white, every living thing at Oakdene was kind 
to every other living thing. 

“Whoa, girlie; whoa, girlie,” had been Patrick’s quieting 
words to Lizzie, and then when Tattine came hurrying that 
way he had motioned her to come quietly for fear of 
frightening them. Then, as you know, Tattine flew to make 
sure that treacherous Black-and-white was kept close guarded, 
and then back she flew again to the aid of the little birds 
themselves. Softly she drew nearer and nearer, saying over 
gently, “Whoa, Lizzie ! dear little birdies !” until she came 
very near and then she put out one hand towards them. That 
was enough for the fledglings. Refreshed by their rest 
on the shafts, they flapped their tiny wings and fluttered 
up to the anxious mother bird on the branches above them, 
wholly unconscious that they had been in any peril what- 
soever. 

“And Black-and-white would have killed them, every one, 
if she had had the chance,” thought Tattine; “oh, if I only 
knew how to teach her a lesson !” 


5 




CHAPTER V. 

TPIE kirks' "'at home." 

1 )ARNEY the donkey was harnessed, and Tattine sat 
y in the little donkey-cart waiting, and as she waited 
she was saying aloud, “What, Grandma Luty ? Yes, Grandma 
Luty. No, Grandma Luty. What did you say, Grandma 
Luty?" and this she said in the most polite little tone imag- 
inable. Meantime Rudolph and Mabel, discovering that Tat- 
tine did not see them, came stealing along under cover of the 
apple-trees. 

“Whatever is Tattine doing, talking to herself like that?" 
whispered Mabel, and then they came near enough to hear 
what she was saying. 

“She’s out of her head," said Rudolph, when they had 
listened some moments, and then Tattine turned round and 
saw them. 

“No, I’m not out of my head at all," she laughed ; “I was 
just practising a little while I waited for you." 

“Practising your grandmother/^ which as you have ob- 
served was a pet expression with Rudolph, whenever he 
84 


TATTINE. 35 

wished to intimate that he considered yoiir remarks to be 
simply absurd. 

“Yes, tliat’s exactly it,” Tattine answered good-naturedly. 
“I am practising my Grandmother. Grandma Luty, that’s 
Mamma’s mother, has come to make us a visit, and Mamma 
has discovered that I’m not very polite to old people. Children 
used to be taught, you know, to say, ‘Yes’m,’ and ‘Yes, sir,’ 
but now that is not considered nice at all, and you must always 
say the name of the person you are speaking to, especially if 
they are older people, to whom you ought to he respectful,” 
and Tattine sounded quite like a little grandmother herself 
as she talked. 

“Yes, we know, and it’s an awful bother,” sighed Rudolph. 
“We’re fairly nagged about it, Mabel and I, but Mother 
says she’s going to keep it up until we always do it. Perhaps 
we would get on faster if we practised by ourselves as 
you do, but really, Tattine, it did sound as though you 
were out of your head, to hear you saying all those sentences 
over to yourself.” 

While the children were having this little talk about polite- 
ness, Rudolph and Mabel had climbed into the wagon, and 
the donkey, acting upon a suggestion from Tattine’s whip, 
had started down the roadway. The trio were off for Patrick’s, 
for this was to be the day of the Kirks’ “At Home,” and, 
dressed in his Sunday-best, Patrick that very minute was 
waiting at his door to receive them. 

Full two miles lay ahead of the children, and though 
Barney fortunately seemed to be in the mood for doing his 
best, Patrick would still have a full half-hour to wait. At 
last the donkey-cart drew up at the Kirks’ door and two 
happy old people welcomed three happy little people into their 
comfortable little home. It would take another book, the size 
of this one, to tell you all the doings of that August day. 
First they went into the house and laid their wraps on the 


3 ^ 


TATTINE. 


white coverlid of the great high feather-bed in the little spare 
room, and then Mrs. Kirk sat them down to three little 
blue bowls of bread-and-milk, remarking, “shure you must 
be after being hungry from your long drive,” and the 
children ate it with far more relish than home bread-and-milk 
was ever eaten. 

“Now Fm doubting,,” said Patrick, standing with his 
back to the cooking-stove and with a corn-cob pipe in his 
mouth, “if it’s the style to have bread-and-milk at ‘At Homes’ 
in the city.” 

“Patrick,” answered Tattine seriously, “we do not zvant 
this to be a city ‘At Home.’ 1 don’t care for them at all. 
Everybody stays for just a little while, and everybody 
talks at once, and as loudly as they can, and at some of them 
they only have tea and a little cake or something like 
that to eat,” and Tattine glanced at the kitchen-table over 
by the window with a smile and a shake of the head, 
as though very much better pleased with what she saw there. 
A pair of chickens lay ready for broiling on a blue china 
platter. Several ears of corn were husked ready for the 
pot they were to be lx)iled in. A plate of cold potatoes looked 
as though waiting for the frying-pan, and from the depths 
of a glass fruit-dish a beautiful pile of Fall-pippins towered 
up to a huge red apple at the top. 

“Indade, thin, but we’ll do our best,” said Mrs. Kirk, “to 
make it as different from what you be calling a city ‘At Home’ 
as possible, and now suppose you let Patrick take you over 
our bit of a farm, and see what you foind to interest you, 
and Pm going wid yer, while ye have a look at my geese, for 
there’s not the loike of my geese at any of the big gentlemin’s 
farms within tin miles of us.” 

And so, nothing loth, the little party filed out of the house, 
and after all hands had assisted in unharnessing Barney 
and tying him into his stall, with a manger-full of sweet, crisp 


TATTINE. 


37 


hay for his dinner, they followed Mrs. Kirk’s lead to the 
little pond at the foot of the apple-orchard. And then what 
did they see! but a truly beautiful great dock of white geese. 
Some were sailing gracefully around the pond, some were 
pluming their snowy breasts on the shore beside it, and three, 
the finest of them all, and each with a bow of ribbon tied round 
its long neck, were confined within a little picket-fence apart 
from the others. 

^‘Why, what beauties, Mrs. Kirk!” exclaimed Tattine, the 
minute she spied them, “and what are the ribbons for? Do 
they mean they have taken a prize at some show or other? 
And why do they each have a different color?” 

“They mane,” said Mrs. Kirk proudly, standing with her 
hands upon her hips and her face fairly beaming, “they mane 
as how they’re to be presinted to you three children. The 
red is for Master Rudolph, the white is for Miss Mabel, and 
the blue is for you. Miss Tattine.” 

“Oh, Mrs. Kirk !” the three children exclaimed, with de- 
light, and Mabel added politely, “But do you really think 
you can spare them, Mrs. Kirk?” 

“Why, of course she can! can’t you, Mrs. Kirk?” cut in 
Rudolph warmly, for the idea of relinquishing such a splendid 
gift was not for a moment to be thought of. “I wonder 
how we can get them home,” he added, by way of settling 
the matter. 

“Indade, thin, and 1 have this foine crate ready to go 
right in the back of your cart,” and there, to be sure, was a 
fine sort of cage with a board top and bottom and laths at the 
sides, while other laths were lying ready to be nailed into 
place after the geese should have been stowed away within 
it. The children were simply wild over this addition to their 
separate little sets of live-stock, and although the whole day 
was delightful, there was all the while an almost impatient 
looking forward to the supreme moment when they should 


TATTINE. 


Start for home with those beautiful geese in their keeping. 
And at last it came. 

“I wonder if my goose will be a litle lonely,” said 
Tattine, as they all stood about, watching Patrick nail on 
the laths. 

“Faith and it will thin,” said Mrs. Kirk. “It never came 
to my moind that they wouldn’t all three be together. Here’s 
little Grey-wing to keep Blue-ribbon company,” and Mrs. 
Kirk seized one of the smaller geese that happened to be near 
her, and sciueezed it into the cage through the small opening 
that was left. 

“Well, if you can spare it, I think that is better, Mrs. Kirk, 
because everything has a companion over at our place. We 
have two cats, two pairs of puppies, two little bay horses, and 
two greys, and two everything, but as there’s only one of 
me I am friends with them all.” 

“Bless your heart, but I’m glad you thought to mintion 
it,” and then Patrick and Mrs. Kirk gave each little 
extended hand a hearty sliake, and the children — declaring 
over and over that “they had a lovely time and were so much 
obliged for the geese” — climbed into the cart and set off for 
home. 

“I’d go the short cut by the ford,” advised Patrick ; “it 
looks like we might get a sliower by sunset.” 

“Yes, I think we would better,” said Rudol])h, glancing 
toward the clouds in the west. Rudolph prided himself on 
his ability to forecast the weather, and was generally able 
to tell correctly when a shower was pretty sure to come and 
when it was likelv to “go round.” 

So Barney was coaxed into a good gait, which he was 
ready as a rule to take towards home, and the little ford 
by way of a farm-lane, and which saved a good mile on 
the road home, was soon reached. Barney knew the place 
well and, always enjoying it, picked his way carefully to 



39 


“Jumping into the water and then^ 
getting a little ahead of Barney, he began to 
walk and pull.” 


40 


TATTINE. 


the middle of the ford, and then he took it into his stub- 
born little head to stand stock still, and to plant his four 
hoofs firmly in the nice soft mud at the bottom of the 
stream. 

“Go on,” urged Tattine; ‘'Go on,” urged Mabel, and 
Rudolph applied his sapling whip with might and main, but 
all to no effect. Meantime some geese from a neigh- 
boring farm had come sailing out into the ford, to have 
a look at their friends in the crate, and the geese in the 
crate, wild to be out on the water with their comrades, 
craned their long necks far out between the laths, and set 
up a tremendous squawking. It was rather a comical 
situation, and the children laughed till their sides ached, but 
after a while it ceased to be so funny. The clouds were 
rolling up blacker, and there was an occasional flash of 
lightning far off in the distance, but Barney stood still 
obdurate and unmoved, simply revelling in the sensation 
of the cool water, running down-stream against his four little 
donkey-legs. At last Rudolph was at his wits’ end, for 
what did Tattine and Ma1)el do but commence to cry. Great 
drops of rain were falling now, and they could not bear 
the thought of being mid-way in that stream with the storm 
breaking right above their heads, and when girls, little or 
big, young or old, cannot bear the thought of things they 
cry. It does not always help matters; it frequently makes 
them more difficult, but then again sometimes it does help 
a little, and this appeared to be one of those things, for 
when the girls’ crying put Rudolph to his wits’ end, he 
realized that there was just one thing left to try, and that 
was to jump overboard and try and pull Barney to land, since 
Barney would not pull him. So into the water he jumped, 
keeping the reins in his hand, and then, getting a little ahead 
of Barney, he began to walk and pull. Now fortunately, 
there is nothing like the force of example, which simply means 


TATTINE. 


41 


that when Barney saw Rudolph walking and pulling he began 
to walk and pull too. 

iNleantiine, while Patrick and his wife were thinking that 
the children had had plenty of time to reach home before the 
storm, there was great anxiety in the two homes where those 
three dear children lived. Patrick the coachman and 
Philip the groom had been sent with the wagonette by 
the main road to Patrick Kirk’s — Patrick to bring the 
children and Philip to take charge of Barney, but as the 



children were coming home, or rather trying to come home, 
by the ford, of course they missed them. 

All the while the storm was growing in violence, and 
suddenly for about five minutes great hailstones came beating 
down till the lawn was fairly white with them, and the 
panes of glass in the green-house roof at Oakdene cracked 
and broke beneath them. “And those three blessed children 
are probably out in it all,” thought Tattine’s Mother, standing 
pale and trembling at her window, and watching the road up 
6 


42 


TATTINE. 


which the wagonette would have to come. And then what 
did she see but Barney, trotting bravely up the hill, with the 
geese still craning their necks through the laths of the cage, 
but the reins dragging through the mud of the roadway, 
and with no children in the little cart.. Close behind 
him came the wagonette, which Barney was cleverly man- 
aging to keep well ahead of, but Mrs. Gerald soon discovered 
that neither were the children in that either. In an instant she 
was down the stairs and out on the porch to meet Patrick at 
the door. 

“It isn’t possible you have no word of the children?” she 
cried excitedly. 

“Patrick Kirk says they started home by the ford in time 
to reach here an hour before the storm,” gasped Patrick, “but 
we came back by the ford ourselves and not a sign have we 
seen of them, till Barney ran out of the woods ahead of us 
five minutes ago.” 

And then a dreadful thought flashed through her mind. 
Could it be possible they had been drowned in the ford? But 
that moment her eyes saw something that made her heart leap 
for joy, something that looked drowned enough, but wasn’t. 
Rudolph was running up the hill as fast as his soaking clothing 
would let him, and, reaching the door breathless enough, he 
sank down on the floor of the porch. 

“Oh, Mrs. Gerald,” he said, as soon as he could catch 
his breath, “Mabel and Tattine are all right; they’re safe 
in the log play-house at the Cornwells’, but we’ve had an 
awful fright. Is Barney home? When the hail came I tied 
him to a tree and we ran into the log house, but he broke 
away the next minute and took to his heels and ran as fast as 
his legs could carry him. Barney’s an awful fraud, Mrs. 
Gerald.” 

But Mrs. Gerald had no time just then to give heed to 
Barney’s misdoings. Seizing a wrap from the hall, she ordered 


TATTINE. 


43 


Rudolph into the house and to bed, as quickly as he could be 
gotten there, sent Philip to Rudolph’s Mother with the word 
that the children were safe, and then started off in the wagon- 
ette to bring Mabel and Tattine home. 

‘'Mamma,” said Tattine, snuggling her wet little self close 
to her Mother’s side in the carriage, “Rudolph was just 
splendid, the way he hauled Barney and us and the cart out 
of the water, but Mamma, I am done with Barney now too. 
He’s not to be trusted either.” 

Mrs. Gerald thought of two or three things that might 
be urged in Barney’s favor, but it did not seem kind even to 
attempt to reason with two such tired and soaking little speci- 
mens, so she only said, “Well, Barney can never again be 
trusted in the ford, that’s one sure thing.” 

“Xo, indeed,” said Mabel warmly; “I would not give fifty 
cents for him.” 

“You can have him for nothing,” said Tattine, with a 
wan little smile; “after this he can never be trusted in 
anything.” 




CHAPTER VL 

^‘IT IS THEIR NATURE TO/' 

^I^ATTINE was getting on beautifully with her attempt to 

-A- use Grandma Luty’s name at the proper time, and 

in the proper place, and she was getting on beautifully 

with grandma herself as well. She loved everything about 

her, and wished it need not be so very long till she 

could be a grandma herself, have white hair and wear 

snowy caps atop of it, and kerchiefs around her neck, and 

use gold eye-glasses and a knitting-basket. Grandma Luty, 

you see, was one of the dear, old-fashioned grandmothers. 

There are not many of them nowadays. Most of them 

seem to like to dress so you cannot tell a grandmother 

from just an ordinary everyday mother. If you have a 

grandmother — a nice old one, I mean — see if you cannot get 

her into the cap and kerchief, and then show her how 

lovely she looks in them. But what I was going to 

tell you was that Grandma Luty’s visit was all a joy to 

Tattine, and so when, just at davlight one morning, the 
4 [ 


L. of C« 


TATTINE 


45 



setter puppies in their kennel at the back of the house 
commenced a prodigious barking, Tattine’s first thought was 
for Grandma. 


‘‘It’s 
she said 
so, quiet 
into her 
lying across a 
downstairs, and 


a perfect shame 
to herself, “and 
as a mouse, 
bed-slippers and 
chair, and 
unlocking 


wake her up,” 
to stop them,” 


to have them 
I know a wa\ 
she stole out of bed, slipped 
her nurse’s wrapper, that was 
then just as noiselessly 


the door 


leading 


to the 


stole 

back 


46 


TATTINE. 


porch, hurried to open the gate of the kennel, for simply 
to let the puppies run she knew would stop their barking. 
Tattine was right about that, but just ‘as she swung the 
gate open, a happy thought struck those four little puppies’ 
minds, and as she started to run back to the house, all 
four of them buried their sharp little teeth in the frill of 
Priscilla’s wrapper. 

Still Tattine succeeded in making her way across the lawn 
back to the door, although she had four puppies in tow and 
was almost weak from laughing. 

She knew perfectly well what a funny picture she must 
make, with the wrapper that was so much too large for her, 
only kept in place' by the big puff sleeves : and with the 
puppies pulling awa}^ for dear life, at the train. When she 
reached the screen door, she had a tussle with them, one by 
one, taking a sort of reef in the trailing skirt as each puppy 
was' successfully disposed of, until all of it was clear of 
the sharp little teeth, and she could bang the door to between 
them. 

I do not believe Grandma Luty ever laughed harder 
than when Tattine told her all about it as they sat 
together in the porch that morning after breakfast. She even 
laughed her cap way over on one side, so that Tattine 
had to take out the gold pins and put them in again to 
straighten it. 

“But Grandma,” said Tattine, when they had sobered 
down, “those puppies, cunning as they are now, will just be 
cruel setters when they grow up, killing everything they come 
across, birds and rabbits and chipmunks.” 

Tattine, said Grandma Luty, with her dear, kindly smile, 
your Mother has told me how disappointed you have been 
this summer in Betsy and Doctor and little Black-and-white, 
and that now Barney has fallen into disgrace, since he kept 
you so long in the ford the other day, but I want to tell you 


TATTINE. 


47 


something. You must not stop loving them at all because 
they do what you call cruel things. You have heard the 
old rhyme : — 

‘•Let dogs delight to bark and bite, 

For God has made them so: 

Let bears and lions growl and fight, 

For ’tis their nature to.” 

“Oh, yes, I know that,” said Tattine, “and I don’t think 
it’s all quite true; our dogs don’t bite (I suppose it means 
biting people), bad as they are.” 

“No; I’ve always thought myself that line was not 
quite fair to the dogs either, but the verses mean that we 
mustn’t blame animals for doing things that it is their 
nature to do.” 

“And yet. Grandma, I am not allowed to do naughty things 
because it is my nature to.” 

“Ah, but, Tattine, there lies the beautiful difference. You 
can be reasoned with, and made to understand things, so that 
you can change your nature — I mean tlie part of you that 
makes you sometimes love to do naughty things. 

“There’s another part of your nature that is dear and 
good and sweet, and doesn't need to be changed at all. 
But Betsy and Doctor can only be trained in a few ways, and 
never to really change their nature. 

“Setters have hunted rabbits always, kittens have preyed 
upon birds, and donkeys, as a rule, have stood still whenever 
they wanted to.” 

“But why, I wonder, were they made so?” 

“You nor I nor nobody knows, Tattine, but isn’t it fine 
that 'for some reason we are made differently ? If we will 
only be reasonable and try hard enough and in the right way, 
we can overcome anvthing.” 

“It’s a little like a sermon. Grandma Lutv.” 

“It’s a little bit of a one then, for it’s over, but you go 


48 


TATTINE. 


this minute and give Betsy and Doctor a good hard hug, and 
tell them you forgive them.’’ 

And Tattine did as she was bid, and Doctor and Betsy, who 
had sadly missed her petting, were wild with delight. 

‘'But don’t even you yourselves wish,” she said, looking 
down at them ruefully, “that it was not your nature to kill 
dear little babv rabbits?” 

And Tattine thought they looked as though they really 
were very sorry indeed. 



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